


Comin' Down Fast But Don't Let Me Break You

by sunflower_beatles



Category: George Harrison - Fandom, John Lennon - Fandom, Paul McCartney - Fandom, The Beatles, ringo starr - Fandom
Genre: Plane Crash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2018-12-26 13:35:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12060057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower_beatles/pseuds/sunflower_beatles
Summary: Lightning strikes the Beatles' plane on its way to America.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys! yep, another beatles fanfic. i feel like this one is appropriately named for the content (you'll see why once you read it!)

~Prologue~  
*John’s POV*

Brian had come back to the hotel room that night, looking overworked and weary as he typically does, but there was a big grin that he couldn’t seem to shake off his face. He settled into the room, all of us glancing at each other and silently asking ourselves, how come Brian’s suddenly so very happy? It’s rare that he’s this cheerful after a long, tiring day.

Sooner or later he couldn’t contain the feeling any longer and just blurted it out: “Boys, we’re going to America.”

\---

*John’s POV*

“John, come on then!” Brian herds us like livestock up the stairs and into the plane, away from all the screaming fans that gathered at the airport to see us leave. The boys get seated in the plane; I’m on the aisle seat, next to Paul, and Ringo and George are across the aisle. We can still hear the screams of our fans, even when the flight attendant closes the airplane door.

Ringo looks a bit off, so I lean across the aisle and extend my hand. “Ye alright, Ritchie, or does Mommy need to hold yer hand during take-off?”

Ringo rolls his eyes and smacks my hand away. “Get offa me, you pansy,” he grumbles, but he’s hiding a bit of a grin.

The pilot comes over the intercom and lets us know we’ll be taking off in just a few minutes. I glance at Ringo again. “My offer still stands.”

He glares and turns to talk to George. Maybe to ask HIM to hold his hand.

Paul is looking intently out the window of the plane at the pavement rolling by as we taxi out to the runway. His delicate features seem to glow in the early-morning sunlight. His hazel eyes flick around, taking in everything. Paul’s always doing that, looking for inspiration for songs or poems or art. I’ve been told I do it too, but if I do, I don’t notice.

Finally the plane accelerates and we take off, soaring up into the clear sky. I peek over at Ringo. His hands are clenching the armrests so hard his knuckles turn white. I smirk and look over at Paul. He’s gazing out the window in awe as we rise, up, up, into the clouds.

\--- 

An hour and a bit into our flight, we’re well over the Atlantic Ocean. The pilot announces there may be some slight turbulence during the next half an hour. I shrug. It’s really Ringo I’m more worried about. He looks queasy, and the paper bag is on his knee just in case. George looks over a groaning Ringo at me and gives me a look that says, “Is he okay?”

I frown, concerned, and turn back to Paul. He’s reading a magazine article about us, the Beatles, and our American tour. “Paul, ye self-absorbed git, reading about yerself?” I tease.

He sighs, so used to my teasing he isn’t even bothered. “Aw, screw off, John. Go find a bird. That flight attendant down the aisle was lookin’ real hot.”

I perk up and look down the aisle, but it had only been a diversion to get me off of Paul. He goes right back to reading about himself straight after.

\---

The pilot is right about the flight being turbulent. He was wrong about the bumps being “slight”, though, because George falls out of his seat. I guess he isn’t wearing his seatbelt.

Ringo looks a little paler by the minute. I suppose he isn’t a happy flier. 

Paul finds a Playboy magazine and we pass the (bumpy) time by checking out all the birds in there. Nancy Jo Hooper’s smiling face and ruffly pink dress, Paul and I both agree, are a little too preppy, but we’d still get her in bed. Not both at the same time, of course. We aren’t queers.

Paul’s pointing to a photo of yet another posing bird when the plane suddenly shudders and a loud cracking sound is heard. Static comes over the intercom, and the pilot’s shaky voice announces: “Lightning has struck the engine and blown it out. Brace for impact!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoy this chapter! sorry for not posting lately, i've been SUPER busy with school and other things <3 thank you for your continued support

Paul’s POV

It is the first time in my life I’ve seen John Winston Lennon truly speechless. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Ringo and George stare at us with fear spread across their pale faces like marmalade on bread. 

Brian comes charging down the aisle, shouting for us to get the inflatable life jackets from under our seats. The plane shudders and our hands tremble as we blow up the life vests. John focuses his blurred vision at me with a look I’ll never forget: a look of pure terror. 

Brian comes running back and pushes all four of our mop-topped heads down into the impact position. I feel an arm around my shoulders, and it’s John. For the second time that I’ve seen, John is crying. 

I wrap my right arm across his shoulders and pull his shaking body close to mine. The rattling of the plane is so loud now I have to shout in his ear for him to hear me, but I yell, “Johnny, no matter what happens, you’ll always be my best friend. Okay?”

John nods, tears streaming down his cheeks. I plant a kiss on the side of his head, just above his ear, and then- WHOOOOOSHH. And everything goes black.

\---

My feet are wet. Am I dreaming? I must be, I’m on an airplane. Or maybe John spilled his drink on me again. So why is everything so loud? Who’s screaming?

A hazy figure appears above me. My ears are ringing. Everything seems to happen in slow motion as the person unbuckles my seat belt, pulls me up and starts running down the aisle with me. My shoes and socks are drenched; my vision unblurs enough for me to tell that my feet are sloshing through at least four inches of ocean water. It smells something horrid, too, like poop and salt and seaweed. 

Suddenly it all comes rushing back and hits me like a brick to the face. Our plane to America went down in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. And the figure pulling me is my best friend John. My mind becomes alert and my eyes focus. I must have hit my head when we crashed. The front of the plane is all destroyed. The pilots and the two flight attendants sitting at the front couldn’t have made it.

John pushes me out the door and onto the wing of the plane, which I now realize, is slowly but steadily sinking. Rain and sleet pour down as I spot Ringo and George, who are already out on the wing, huddling for warmth. Brian and John manage to inflate a big yellow raft, just large enough to hold all of us, including the two flight attendants who had been sitting in the back of the plane. John helps the ladies into the raft, and that’s when I realize the moisture on his cheeks isn’t just from the pouring rain. Tears are racing down his cheeks, but he’s silent. 

He helps Brian into the raft, then George and Ringo. By the time he gets to me, the water on the wing is above our ankles. John pushes me off the plane and I fall, landing on a nauseous Ringo. John hops on just as the water reaches his knees, pushing off from the metal wing as it disappears to the bottom of the sea. 

And then it’s just angry blue ocean as far as we can see, with the fierce storm clouds above it, thundering menacingly.

\---

We hunker down, lying close next to each other for warmth. The two flight attendants who survived are huddling next to Brian, and both are crying and mourning. Torrential rain pours down and beats our skin. The waves are huge and each time it lifts us up and down, Ringo gets a shade paler. 

Suddenly he sits up and heaves over the edge of the raft. I'm thankful that we can't hear the sound of him throwing his guts up over the roar of the storm, because I think that'd make me vomit too. 

Ringo wipes his mouth and lays back down next to George, his arms wrapped around him. 

At some point the rain and roar of the waves lulls me to a light sleep, and I wake up to calm ocean with silver clouds above us. Brian is awake and sitting up; everyone else is asleep. I notice he’s holding two large suitcases in his lap. He sees me staring and mouths “I managed to grab these.”

I nod and mouth back: “What’s in them?”

He shrugs. I lay back down next to John and that’s when the panic really kicks in. We’re stranded in the middle of the Atlantic with no food, no means of communication, barely enough clothing to keep warm. 

I shudder and feel the urge to vomit. I lean over the edge and heave, but nothing comes out. I dry-heave and cough for a few minutes, and I can feel Brian’s concerned eyes on me, but I don’t care, I don’t care, I just want to go home, back to my little Liverpool flat, and lay in my warm bed forever.

Finally I spit some bile into the ocean, and lay back down next to a snoring John. 

\---

I guess I fell asleep because when I open my eyes everything is still. Too still. Wasn’t it just pouring sleet?

Everyone is going through the contents of their pockets and the two suitcases Brian had. They belonged to Mal, our roadie, and one of the other flight attendants. I sit up and shield my eyes from the bright but freezing sun. 

“‘Ello, good mornin’, Paul,” John says, his breath visible in the air. 

“G’mornin’, lads, ladies,” I say. “What’s in those suitcases anyway, Eppy?”

He shrugs. “Clothes, toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, towels, shaving things, typical suitcase.” He hands me one of Mal’s jackets. “Got to keep warm, lad.”

I put it around my shoulders, thankful that Mal always packed heavy. A pang goes through me and I almost hurl again as I remember Mal and everybody else on that plane are now at the bottom of the ocean. Every time I remember that, it feels like a fresh slice with a razor blade on my soul and more pain in my chest.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE IS SOME INJURY DESCRIPTION IN THIS CHAPTER BTW IN CASE UR SENSITIVE TO THAT I'LL PUT A SUMMARY IN THE ENDING NOTES!!!
> 
> thanks for all your positivity on this work! i'm quite proud of this one actually so it means a lot :) remember to follow me on instagram @i_sit_on_my_cornflakes :)

*Ringo’s POV*

We all have dealt out the belongings from the two suitcases Brian recovered. The calm waves move us back and forth gently, which may seem relaxing, but not when there are icicles practically forming on yer nose. George’s huddling next to me, shivering intensely. I’m shivering too, but Geo is really vibrating, and he’s white as a sheet. I shake his shoulder a little and whisper, “Ye alright, mate?”

His brown eyes drift up to my face, and he shakes his head no. 

“What’s wrong? Are ye freezing? I can find ye another coat-”

He shakes his head again, and through the shivers he mutters, “I’m hurt.”

 

I begin to get nervous. “What do ye mean, lad? Talk to me.”

“W-when we crashed… I- I had a fountain pen in my pocket- and… it got me stomach.” His voice shakes violently. 

“Oh, Geo, we need to get it out.” I nod to Eppy that George’s hurt, and he gets some cloths out of the suitcase. Geo’s body is shaking as I unbutton his coat and then I see the blood. It’s soaked through his shirt and his undershirt. That’s when I think, God, George, why didn’t you say anything earlier?

By this point, the flight attendants and the other Beatles are watching this process. I pull his coat away entirely and see the pen protruding from his side. I gag and almost vomit as I unbutton his shirt and see the full wound. The skin around the pen is red and shiny with pus, and there is dried blood everywhere.

Eppy tosses me a couple of Mal’s wash clothes and a bottle of strong alcohol, from which I pour on the cloth, and then I dribble a little in Georgie’s mouth to ease the pain. I grit my teeth, mutter, “This is going to hurt,” and wrap the soaking cloth around the wound. George lets out a low growl, but he doesn’t fight me. 

I give Georgie another gulp of the alcohol, and I take a swig myself. Then I grip the pen, careful not to move it sideways to prevent opening the wound more, and then I quickly pull it out. George’s body stiffens, and he breathes heavily as I cover the wound with the alcohol-soaked cloth, which must sting like mad. 

I pass a roll of bandages over and under his torso, strapping the cloth over the injury. I help him sit up and remove his blood-stained shirt completely, so his entire upper body is naked and trembling with fatigue and cold. I remove my outermost layer (one of the coats from the suitcase) and wrap George in that and his coat. I lay back down with his head on my shoulder, my hands rubbing his to keep the blood circulating. His dark eyes are lazy from the alcohol and the pain, and then they shut and his breathing evens and he looks so peaceful and pretty and I can’t help but wonder what that feeling in my chest is, the feeling like even though we’re stranded in the middle of the Atlantic, I feel calm as long as I have George.

*George’s POV*

I wake up some time later to the most brilliant red sunset you’ve ever seen. It was like someone had painted the sky with strokes of the brightest reds and oranges. My side still stings like a bastard, especially when I move. I will probably need hospital, because it could get badly infected. My head pounds.

“Georgie! Yer awake!” Ringo lifts his head up and looks down at me with his crystal blue eyes. “How are ye feeling?”

“Like absolute shite. Got any more of that alcohol?”

He passes me the bottle and I take a swig. It travels down my throat like fire burning me from the inside out, but it eases my pain. “Thanks, mate.”

Ringo hesitates. I can tell he has a question. “Oh, for Chrissake, just ask,” I say. 

“Can I, er, see the wound again? I need to check on it, I’m sorry,” he says, a guilty look on his face because he knows it will hurt me. 

“I suppose.” I set down the bottle and pull up my jacket. The cold stings my skin. His eyes flick to my smooth upper chest and rest there for a moment. I snap my fingers in his face and say, “Hey, you little pansy, focus on my life threatening injury, please.”

Ringo nods quickly, his cheeks red, and unwraps the bandages. I tilt my head back because I don’t want to see if it’s as bad as it feels. When Richie pulls the cloth off it, it pulls at the skin a little and I groan and he gasps. I guess it is that bad. My entire side feels like it’s being torched with a candle. 

Ringo is quiet for a moment, examining it. I finally get the courage to lift my head up and what I see makes me wish I didn’t. It’s red where the pen was, and I can see into my body. I can see… is that an intestine? Christ. Ringo just stares for a minute with his mouth wide open. Then he puts a little more alcohol on the cloth and wraps me back up. I’m in awful pain by the time he pulls my shirt back down. 

Ringo climbs over my legs and over to Brian and whispers in his ear. I can’t hear what he says, but I know it’s about me. The only thing I hear is: “Bri, he needs hospital.”

I sit up a little and take a look at everyone. Paul is fast asleep in John’s arms, and he looks so peaceful. John nods at me, and I smile a little. The two flight attendants are also asleep, their bodies pressed against each other and Brian. I hope they don’t feel too bad. None of us have food, just the few little bits that were in the suitcases, and I think Ringo had some jelly babies in his pocket. That’s Ringo for ye - always armed with sweets. I don’t ever tell him but I really love him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter summary for those sensitive to gore- ringo discovers that george has an injury from when the plane crashed and treats it, but geo will need a hospital. everyone is getting very hungry as well.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bumbumbumbumPLOTTWISTDEADAHEAD

*Brian’s POV*

The boys are getting weaker by the hour. I can see it in their eyes. Especially George. His injury will be life threatening unless we get him treatment soon, which we can’t do if we’re stranded in the ocean. I need figure out how to contact help. 

Dark clouds have been brewing in the distance all morning, and they sneak closer every minute. I keep a close eye on them, because I feel they will bring a storm bigger than the one that knocked out our plane in the first place. The sun shines down on us, but it’s not warm. 

John is fast asleep, cuddled against Paul. A strange pang of jealousy shoots through my chest. 

I wish I was Paul… 

Stop it, Brian! You vowed not to show your feelings for John.

But… I’ve had a crush on him forever. He’s so pretty. Look at him. His auburn hair, his perfect eyes… 

Yesss… -No, wait! Stop. He’s your client, for Christ’s sake. Get a hold of yourself.

You’re right. You’re always right.

I hunker down in between the raft’s thick yellow side and the flight attendant to my right with a dead man’s suitcase under my head. I’d give anything in that moment to switch places with Mal. Or Paul… 

On another issue, should I tell the boys I found a radio in one of the suitcases?

*Ringo’s POV*

I can’t stop thinking about how bad off we are. We’re stuck in the middle of the damn ocean with hardly any food or water and no way of contacting anybody. I don’t realize I’m crying until I feel ice frozen onto my cheeks. I pick it off and it takes a bit of my skin with it, leaving a burning path down my face. I brush George’s pale cheekbone with my cold thumb. “Geo?”

His eyes flutter open slowly. “Yeah..?” His voice is lazy. 

“Will ye cuddle me?”

I would never have asked him to do such a thing if we weren’t in this situation. But right now I just need someone’s arms around me. 

He rolls over with difficulty and puts his body around me, spooning me. Immediately I feel warmer, and, using my arm as a pillow, I doze off.

*George’s POV*

Many hours later, I’m still cuddling a sleeping Richie when I hear it. The crackling static sound. Am I going mad?

I sit up, pain shooting through my abdomen. Brian is fumbling with something- oh my Lord. It’s a radio. A real life radio. 

“Brian Samuel Epstein, what in the name of Christ is that?!” I say, trying to sound intimidating, but my voice cracks and I wince in pain once again.

Brian gets a terrified look in his eyes and tries to hide the radio. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, lying right through his teeth.

“I see that radio, Bri. Why have you hidden that from us?” My cheeks heat up with anger. 

I flick Ringo’s nose with my finger and he awakes with a start. “Wha-”

“Brian over here has hidden this radio from us.” I say, and Ringo’s blue eyes narrow. 

“BRIAN,” he yells, startling Paul, John, and the flight attendants awake. 

“What’s going on?” the flight attendant closest to Brian asks. She sees the radio and covers her mouth. “Oh my god.”

John takes the more violent approach. He leaps up from his spot next to Paul and launches himself on top of Brian, grabbing a fistful of his jacket. “YE ABSOLUTE IDIOT!”

“Please, let me explain!”

“Explain what?! That ye withheld means of communication from us??” John raised his fist, ready to punch Eppy. Paul must’ve decided he had to do something, because he yelped, “John!”

He whipped around, anger flying from his eyes. As he did, thunder rumbled in the distance. “What,” he spat. 

“Maybe you should, er, let the man explain before you jump to conclusions.” And then Paul gave him his hazel puppy dog eyes, and something softened in John. Brian smiled a little at Paul, but it disappeared when John turned back to him. He released his shirt. “Go on, then. Explain.” 

Brian swallowed, straightened his shirt, and began. “I found the radio in Mal’s suitcase. I hadn’t figured it would work since it had gotten wet. I tried it out just now while you all were sleeping just to see if I could get anything, and all I heard was some static. It’s better than nothing, but…” His voice trails off. John, satisfied with that, sits back down next to Paul.

Ringo looks up at the sky with fear in his wide eyes. “Er, John, I think we have bigger problems than a broken radio right now.”

John turns to him with a confused look on his face. A fat watery snowflake hits him right between the eyes. He looks up. The dark menacing clouds are right above our little raft. Lightning crackles inside them. 

The snow comes down faster as we hunker down. John and Paul lock arms, and Brian lays between the girls with his arms around them. John has a hold of the two suitcases. Richie and I wrap our arms around each other and hold on to the little handles on the sides of the raft. 

The waves pick up, and soon we’re being tossed over hills of raging water, while thunder booms around us and sheets of snow and sleet pour down, soaking us. Over the roar of the storm, I hear one of the girls shriek, “Mary! We’ve lost Mary!” and I assume she means the other flight attendant, but my mind is so foggy with the salt water and snow crashing over me and the blinding pain of my injury and the cold stinging my skin and suddenly I’m flying and my vision is going black and I’m out, I’m out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do you hate me for leavin you on such a cliffhanger?  
> #sorrynotsorry


	5. Chapter 5

*George’s POV*

I’m awake.

Everything is calm.

I can hear a girl crying.

I can feel the waves rocking the raft.

But…

Wasn’t there just a chaotic storm tossing me every which way..?

Someone’s shaking me. 

Open your eyes, Harrison!

I can’t open my eyes.

Why not?

I… I don’t know.

C’mon, just do it!

I CAN’T. 

YES, YOU CAN. 

I can’t, I can’t do it, it hurts, it hurts-

“George, can ye hear me, love?”

I… I know that voice.

I know you!

“Richie..?”

“I’m here, Georgie.” I feel his hand grasp mine. 

“Richie, what’s going on? I can’t remember much, just a flying sensation-”

“Shhh, it’s from being tossed over the waves. The storm is over. Now let’s try to melt that ice off your eyes.”

Oh. So that’s why I can’t see anything.

I feel his hands over my face, whatever heat is left in him warming my cold cheeks and suddenly I see some light. “I can see something!”

“Good, good!” he says, and I can hear the weary smile in his voice. Soon, all the ice is off my face and the blinding light of day is in my vision. I see Ringo’s rosy cheeked face staring down at me. “Rise n’ shine!”

I smile a little, then try to sit up, but pain shoots through my torso and I gasp. “Hey, it’s okay mate, stay down,” Ringo says quickly, putting his hands on my shoulders.

“Ringo… what happened?”

He sighs. “A big snow storm hit us. Everyone was saved except… one of the flight attendants, Mary, s- she fell overboard and the waves were too big to try and paddle close to her so… she drowned…”

My heart sunk. I hadn’t known the girl and neither had Ringo, but I sure am sad about it and I can tell he is too. 

“The other girl… what’s her name?”

“That’s Jennifer,” Ringo said, lowering his voice so she couldn’t hear him. “She’s devastated. All of us, even Paul, the lady-charmer, have tried to cheer her up, but she just keeps on crying. We don’t know what else to do.” 

I wish I could get up and comfort her, but I can’t move without nearly blacking out. Instead I lift my head up and look around as best I could. John has his arms around Paul, who is trembling like a scared dog. Brian is shooting glances at them, looking angry. Everyone is covered in snow and ice. And then I realize Ringo is straddling me and my cheeks heat up. “Uh, Rich-“

“Oh! Sorry, Geo.” He gets off and sits down next to me, blushing furiously. 

John sits up and turns to Brian, who blushes slightly and quickly puts on a smile. “Have ye tried that radio again?”

Brian sighs. “It’s frozen,” he says sadly. John looks ready to threaten him again, but then Brian says “But it could’ve sent out a faint signal before when I tried to work it.”

Paul turned to John, his eyes cloudy but happy. “Johnny, we could be rescued! We could be…” His voice drifted away. 

John grabbed him. “Paul?” But Paul’s eyes roll back in his head and his body goes slack. “Paul!” 

Ringo jumps up and goes over to help John lay Paul down. John’s voice is cracking as he caresses Paul’s frozen cheek. “He’s too cold, Rings, we need to warm him up.” He takes his hand and begins rubbing it, to get the circulation going. Brian begins rubbing his legs. Jennifer just sits and watches, her tears frozen onto her cheeks. I wish I could help. 

They’ve been rubbing Paul’s frozen body for twenty minutes now, and he’s still out cold. John’s weeping and vigorously rubbing Paul’s hands in between his own. He mutters things like “Cmon, Paulie baby, you can do it, wake up, please.” It breaks my heart to see one of my best friends in such a state of distress, and to see my other best friend lying unconscious. 

None of this should’ve happened. We should be in America by now. And… why has no one found us yet?

*John’s POV*

As I stare at my best friend laying frozen solid and barely breathing in my lap, my hope that we’d all make it out of this alive just… shattered. Paul is going to die. I’m going to lose my best friend.


	6. Chapter 6

*John’s POV*

I can barely open my eyes.

I’m so hungry.

We’ve eaten all our food, even Ringo’s jelly babies.

George’s wound is badly infected. He is pale and boy, does he tremble.

My body is wrapped around Paul. I’m not sure if he’s alive or not, but I keep rubbing his hands, even if my movements are getting slower by the minute.

I’m so… what’s the word? Weary. My mind is slow, lazy. We’ve been out in this raft for four days now. We’re all weak. So weak. 

My vision is blurred but I… I can see a dark figure above us as I stare at the clouded sky with Paul’s limp body in my lap. Loud chopping sounds cut through the haze in my brain. Suddenly I’m being lifted up and out of the raft and into the figure. 

It registers in my mind that it’s a helicopter. 

We… 

We’re being rescued!

A man from the helicopter tries to take Paul from me and I grab at his limp arms, yelling, my emotions pouring out like an absolute madman. 

The person gently pulls Paul away and I slump in the corner, crying and screaming and so cold I can’t even shiver anymore, so hungry I can’t even feel the urge to eat, and I can’t feel my hands or feet and and someone wraps a blanket around me and gives me a hot drink and then goes to perform CPR on Paul and Jennifer is still sobbing but it’s happy tears this time and Brian is sitting with his head in his hands and Mal’s suitcase by his feet and my screams turn to whimpers and then we fly, fly away. 

—

I guess I passed out at some point, because when I open my eyes I’m in a bright white room. Hospital. Nurses rush around in the hallway. 

One nurse sees that I’m awake and smiles. “Hi, John!” she says, coming over to take my pulse. “I’m Molly. How are you feeling?” She has an American accent and a white-blonde bob. We must’ve flown to New York. 

“Warm. I haven’t been this warm in ages,” I reply, and she laughs. Her eyes crinkle when she laughs. 

“Well, that’s good! And are you hungry?”

I nod my head. She smiles and leaves, and comes back with a tray of food. “Promise me you’ll eat this slow, okay? Your stomach wouldn’t be able to handle it if you scarfed it all down in two minutes, okay?”

I nod, and sink my teeth into the little sandwich. Sauce squirts out over my lips, and I wipe my face with a napkin. “Thank ye,” I say. 

She smiles back. “Anything else I can get for you right now, Mr. Lennon?”

“Oh, please call me John,” I say. Then a thought crosses my mind. “Can I see my friends? Y’know, Paul, George, and Ringo? And Jennifer, Eppy? Are they okay?”

Nurse Molly’s face turns serious. “I’m not sure of the status of everyone. I’ve been to see Mr. Starr, he’s asking for you as well. He will be alright. And Jennifer is about in the same boat as you- sorry, no pun intended.”

I force a small grin. “And what about George? And Paul?”

She takes my hand, and I realize there’s a needle in my arm. Her hands are delicate and cold. “I’m sorry, I don’t know their conditions.” I look down. “I can probably go find out, though, if you’d like.”

I look up into her crystal blue eyes and nod. “Thank you!” I say as she leaves, and she waves. I like her.

*Paul’s POV*

Flashes of memory dart in front of my vision.

Playing in the Cavern… 

My mother’s death… 

John, walking towards me, pressing his lips hard on mine and shoving me onto the bed…

Meeting Brian for the first time… 

The plane crashing and the water filling up the cabin…

And then a bright light sears into my mind and I can’t feel anything.

*George’s POV*

The only thing that I remember from being rescued and going into surgery is someone yelling commands to someone else, and a loud high beeping.

*Ringo’s POV*

“Can I see John? I need to see him.”

“I’m sorry, sir, it’s against our rules-”

“BRING ME TO HIM, GODDAMNIT!”

“I- I can’t, I-”

“Bring me to my friend. NOW.”

“Alright, okay, let’s go!”

*John’s POV*

The Cheery Nurse Named Molly comes back within five minutes. “Ringo’s on his way to see you!”

“Thank you,” I say, smiling at her. 

A few moments later, Ringo comes over being pushed in a wheelchair. “Hey, Johnny!” he whooped. 

“Hey, Rings,” I say as Ringo is wheeled next to my bed and the two nurses leave.

“How are ye feelin’, mate?” Ringo asks me. 

I sigh. “I’m alright, Richie. How are you?”

He grins. “Real hungry still, but I’m just fine and dandy.” It warms my heart to see him so optimistic. 

“Have ye heard anything about Paul or Georgie? Or Eppy?”

“No, mate, they won’t tell me anythin’,” I say sadly. He frowns. “But I’m sure they’re gonna be just fine, Ringo.” I take his hand and sort of stroke it. “Don’t ye worry.”

He sniffles a little. “Yeah, we gotta keep hope.”

I nod. “Exactly,” I say, blinking tears out of my eyes I didn’t even feel forming.

He smiles sadly, his blue eyes clouded with tears. “I’m glad ye made it, Johnny,” Ringo says. “I love ye.”

“I love ye too, Richie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D  
> hope you enjoy


	7. The End

*Ringo’s POV*

Men don’t just go around telling other men they love them. The relationship the lads and I have is even stronger now, two years after the crash. We’re never apart.

So, what has changed?

We did our first tour of the US. The fans were all over us. A few times one of us would faint on stage from the exhaustion and splitting screaming from the fans. Paul, especially. He was the weakest out of the four of us, but after all, he did essentially come back from the dead. One time I lost consciousness and my face landed right on the snare. The audience went insane and John and George heaved me off stage, where I promptly awakened and vomited all over myself. Not my proudest moment, I must admit.

George has a nice scar on his torso from his injury. I see it sometimes when we sleep in the same room together. He doesn’t wear a top to bed. But he isn’t ashamed of his scar. For awhile he was, but he grew out of it and now he embraces his flaws. I really am proud of him.

Jennifer sometimes comes along on tour with us. She’s really close with Brian in particular. Speaking of Brian, we’re sure he has a little fancy for John. Well, more like a big fancy. He will always try and stand nearest to him, get John as a bunkmate, things like that. John just shrugs it off, really. He isn’t a queer. At least, we think.

I, for one, am happy. I am happy we’re all together. Sometimes I or one of the lads are heard crying at night, likely over the traumatizing memories of walking past the smashed cockpit with blood dripping out from the cracks, and Mel’s still body as we climbed out onto the wing…

I don’t like to think about those things. I try to keep those memories locked away in the corner of my brain, but sometimes they still sneak back. But not a day goes by that I don’t think about that crash.

Well, that’s all from me. I’m gonna hand it over to my mate Paul now.

*Paul’s POV*

Well, I suppose Ringo said it all, didn’t he. 

I did technically die. I have scars just like George from where they put all sorts of things into me to revive me. My heart stopped for a full minute, they told me. They said it’s a miracle I’m alive. I suppose whatever higher being is up there decided to be generous and save the lads the trouble of organizing my funeral, hm? Oh shut up, Lennon. We all know you’d be honored to lower James Paul McCartney’s casket into his grave.

Anyway, Ringo’s right when he says we cry at night. I’m not ashamed to admit it, either. Everyone cries, y’know? It’s a fact of life. And I try to live my life to its potential to make up for the lives that were lost on that plane on February 7, 1964.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave comments with your opinions on this fic! i hope to write more soon :D


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